Kiss an Angel (2 page)

As Alex looked at his new bride more closely, he saw some resemblance to her mother. They had the same black-as-ink hair, and only indoor women could have such pale skin. Her eyes were an unusual blue, so full of color they were as purple as roadside violets. But she was much smaller than her mother—too fragile-looking for his taste—and her features weren't nearly as bold. From what he remembered of the old photographs, Lani's profile had been almost masculine, while Daisy's had a

blurred quality that was especially evident in that inconsequential nose and silly, soft mouth.

According to Max, Lani had been strong on looks but short on brains, another quality the little airhead across the room had apparently inherited. She wasn't exactly a bimbo— she was too well-bred for that-—but he had no trouble imagining her as a rich man's very expensive sexual trinket.

He'd always been discriminating about female companionship, and alluring as that small body was, he preferred a different sort of woman, one who had more going for her than a great set of legs. He liked intelligence in his bed partners, along with ambition, independence, and the ability to give as good as she got. He could respect a woman who cussed him out, but he had no use for sulks and pouts. This

little ball of fluff was already setting his teeth on edge.

At least keeping her in line wouldn't be a problem. He gazed over at her, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.
Life has a way of catching up
with spoiled little rich girls. And, baby, is it
ever about to catch up with you.

Across the room, Daisy stopped in front of an antique mirror to check her appearance. She did it out

of habit instead of vanity. To her mother, appearance was everything. Lani regarded smudged mascara

as a worse catastrophe than nuclear holocaust.

Daisy's new haircut was chin length in the front and a little longer in the back, breezy, youthful, curling softly here and there. She'd loved it from the beginning, but she'd loved it even more that morning when Amelia had clucked over how untidy the style looked for a wedding.

Just behind her reflection, Daisy saw her bridegroom approaching. She arranged her mouth in a polite smile and told herself everything would work out fine. It had to.

"Get your things, angel face. We're leaving."

She didn't like his tone one bit, but she'd developed a talent for dealing with difficult people, and she overlooked it. "Maria's doing her Grand Marnier souffle for our celebration brunch, but it's not ready yet, so we'll need to wait."

"Afraid not. We have a plane to catch. Your luggage is already in the car."

She needed more time. She wasn't ready to be alone with him yet. "Could we take a later flight, Alexander? I hate to disappoint Maria. She's Amelia's jewel, and she does a wonderful brunch."

Although his mouth curled in a smile, his eyes pierced straight through her.

They were an unusual

color, a pale amber that reminded her of something vaguely eerie. Although she couldn't quite

remember what it was, she knew it made her uneasy.

"The name's Alex, and you've got one minute to get that sweet little butt of yours out the door."

Her pulse leaped with alarm, but before she could react, he turned his back on her and addressed the three other occupants of the room, his voice quiet but commanding. "I hope you'll all excuse us. We

have a plane to catch."

Amelia stepped forward and gave Daisy a sly smile. "My, my. Someone's awfully eager for his wedding night. Our Daisy is quite a morsel, isn't she?"

Daisy abruptly lost her appetite for Maria's souffle. "I'll change my clothes,"

she said.

"We don't have time for that. You're fine just the way you are."

"But. .."

A firm hand settled in the small of her back, determinedly propelling her out into the foyer. "I'll bet this

is your purse." At her nod, he picked up her small Chanel bag from the gilded console and handed it to her. Just then, her father and Amelia appeared to wave them off.

Even though she didn't plan to go any farther than the airport, she wanted to jerk away from Alex's

touch as he steered her toward the door. She turned back toward her father and hated herself for the

faint thread of panic in her voice. "Maybe you could convince Alex to stay a little longer, Dad. We've hardly had a chance to visit."

"Do as he says, Theodosia. And remember—this is your last chance. If you fail at this, I'm washing

my hands of you. For once in your life, let's see if you can do something right."

By now she should be used to her father humiliating her in public, but being humiliated in front of her new husband was so embarrassing she barely managed to square her shoulders. Lifting her chin, she stepped in front of Alex and walked out the door.

She refused to meet his eyes as they waited in silence for the elevator that would take them to the lobby. They moved inside. The doors shut, only to open again on the next floor and allow an elderly woman leading a tan Pekingese to enter.

Daisy immediately shrank against the elevator's rich teak paneling, but the dog spotted her. He drew his ears back, yipped furiously, and sprang. She screeched as he jumped up on her legs and tore her nylons. "Get away!"

The dog continued to claw at her. She screamed and grabbed the brass rail.

Alex regarded her

quizzically, then nudged the animal away with his shoe.

"Naughty Mitzi!" The woman swept her pet into her arms and gave Daisy a censorious look. "I can't think what's wrong. Mitzi loves
everybody.
"

Daisy had begun to perspire. She continued to hold the brass rail in a death grip while she kept her eyes on the vicious little beast as it yipped and snapped at her until the doors opened to the lobby.

"The two of you seem to know each other," Alex said as they got off.

"I've-—I've never seen that dog in my life."

"I don't believe it. That dog hated you."

"I'm not"—she gulped—"I have this
thing
about animals."

"You've got a
thing
about animals? Tell me that doesn't mean you're afraid of them."

She nodded and tried to force her heartbeat back to normal.

"Terrific," he muttered, setting off across the lobby. "That's just terrific."

The late April morning was damp and drizzly. There were no crepe paper streamers attached to the limousine that waited for them at the curb, no tin cans and JUST MARRIED signs, none of the

wonderful silliness reserved for ordinary people who loved each other. She told herself to stop being

such a sentimental fool. Lani had teased her for years about being hopelessly old-fashioned, but all

Daisy had ever wanted was to live a conventional life. Not so unusual, she supposed, for someone

who had been raised so unconventionally.

As she climbed inside, she saw that the tinted glass window separating the driver from the passengers

was closed. At least she'd have the privacy she needed to tell Alex Markov her intentions before they reached the airport.

You took vows, Daisy. Sacred vows.
She shook off the troublesome voice of her conscience by telling herself she didn't have a choice.

He got in next to her, and the spacious interior suddenly seemed cramped. If he wasn't so physically overpowering, she didn't think she'd be so nervous about this. Although he wasn't muscle-bound like

one of those freakish-looking bodybuilders, he had the hard, sinewy physique of someone in top shape. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. The hands that rested on the slacks of his charcoal suit were strong and deeply tanned, with long, tapered fingers. She felt a small jolt of awareness that unsettled her.

They had barely pulled away from the curb before he began to tug at his necktie. He yanked it off, stuffed it in the pocket of his suit coat, and unfastened his collar button with an efficient flick of his wrist. She stiffened, hoping he wasn't going to take off any more. In one of her favorite erotic fantasies, she and a faceless man made passionate love in the back of a white limousine stuck in a Manhattan

traffic jam while Michael Bolton sang "When a Man Loves a Woman" in the background, but there

was a big difference between fantasy and reality.

The limo began to move. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together, and smelled the heavy scent of the gardenia in her hair. She was relieved to see that Alex had stopped taking off his clothes,

but when he stretched his legs and began to study her, she shifted uneasily. No matter how hard she worked at it, she would never be as beautiful as her mother, and when people stared at her for too long, she felt like an ugly duckling. The hole in her shimmery gold nylons from her encounter with the Pekingese didn't add to her self-confidence.

She opened her purse to find a much needed cigarette. It was an awful habit, and she wasn't proud of having succumbed to it. Although Lani had always smoked, Daisy'd never had more than an occasional cigarette in the evening with a glass of wine. But in those first months after her mother's death she'd found that cigarettes relaxed her, and she'd become truly addicted. After a long drag, she decided she

was calm enough to tell Mr. Markov her plan.

"Put it out, angel face."

She regarded him apologetically. "I know it's a terrible habit, and I promise I won't blow smoke at you, but I really need this right now."

He reached past her to lower her window. Without warning, her cigarette burst into flames.

She shrieked and let it go. Sparks flew everywhere. He grabbed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and somehow managed to put out all the embers.

Breathing hard, she looked down at her lap and saw tiny burn marks in her gold lace dress and on the satin jacket. "How did that happen?" she gasped.

"I guess it was faulty."

"A faulty cigarette? I've never heard of anything like that."

"You'd better let me throw away the pack in case the others are like that."

"Yes. Of course."

She quickly handed it over, and he pushed the pack into his pants pocket.

Although she was shaken, he seemed perfectly relaxed. Leaning back in the corner of the seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

They needed to talk—she had to explain to him her plan for putting an end to this embarrassing marriage—but he didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation, and she was afraid she'd mess it up

if she wasn't careful. This past year had been such a disaster that she'd gotten into the habit of giving herself small pep talks so that she didn't fall into the habit of considering herself totally hopeless.

She reminded herself that although her education might have been unorthodox, it had certainly been comprehensive. And despite what her father thought, she'd inherited his brain and not her mother's. She also had a good sense of humor and a naturally optimistic outlook on life that even the past year hadn't entirely destroyed. She spoke four foreign languages, could identify nearly any couture piece by designer, and was an expert at calming hysterical women.

Unfortunately, she didn't possess even a modicum of common sense.

Why hadn't she listened when her mother's Parisian lawyer had explained there would be nothing left after Lani's debts were paid? She suspected now that it was guilt that had pushed her into her disastrous months-long spending spree following that numbing time immediately after the memorial service. For years she had wanted to escape the emotional blackmail that had pinned her to Lani's side on endless rounds of pleasure-seeking. But she hadn't wanted Lani to die.

Not that.

Her eyes filled with tears. She'd loved her mother desperately, and despite Lani's selfishness, her endless demands, and her constant need to be reassured that she hadn't lost her beauty, she knew Lani had loved her, too.

The more guilt Daisy had felt about the unexpected freedom Lani's death had given her, the more money she'd spent, not only on herself but on any of Lani's old friends who were down on their luck. When her creditors' threats had grown ominous, she'd written more checks to hold them off, not knowing or caring that she didn't have enough money to cover them.

Max found out about her extravagant spending the same day a warrant was issued for her arrest. Reality crashed in, and she realized the enormity of what she'd done. She'd begged her father to lend her the money to hold off her creditors, promising to pay him back as soon as she got on her feet.

That was when he'd resorted to blackmail. It was high time she grew up, he told her, and if she wanted

to stay out of jail, she was going to put an end to her extravagance and do as he said.

In crisp, uncompromising tones, he had dictated his terms. She would marry the man he chose for her as soon as he could arrange it. Furthermore, she would promise to stay married to him for six months, serving as an obedient and dutiful wife during that time. Only at the end of the six months would she be free to divorce and benefit from a trust fund he would set up for her, a trust fund he would control. If

she was frugal, she would be able to live in relative comfort off the interest for the rest of her life.

"You're not serious!" she'd exclaimed when she had finally recovered her powers of speech. "People don't arrange marriages any more."

"I've never been more serious. If you don't agree to this marriage, you'll go to jail. And if you can't stay married for six months, you'll never see another penny from me."

Three days later, he had presented her future bridegroom without mentioning a word about his background or occupation, merely giving her an admonition:

"He's going to teach you something about life. For now, that's all you need to know."

They crossed the Triborough Bridge, and she realized they'd be at La Guardia soon, which meant she couldn't wait any longer to broach the subject they needed to discuss. Out of habit, she withdrew a slim gold compact from her purse to make certain everything was as it should be. Reassured, she closed it with a snap andput it away.